Lost in Translation
by Autumn Rene
Summary: What's dead, should stay dead… but what if you're a Winchester? Set in Season 12. I do not own Supernatural.
1. Resurrectionem

Lost in Translation

Summary: What's dead, should stay dead… but what if you're a Winchester? Set in Season 12.

Rated: T for Violence, injuries, and adult language.

A/N: This idea came to me after reading an article online about scary stories based from the Appalachian Mountains. Some I've heard of and others were new. This is my first time delving into the fanfiction community. I've been reading fanfiction for years, but it never occurred to me to ever write one. Anyways, enjoy this little story. Please review!

-SPN-

Chapter 1

 _Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! NOW, DEAN, GO!_ He jerked awake, not sure what brought on the memory, but suddenly his body tensed and was overcome with a deep all-encompassing feeling of dread. He had to find his boys. The last memory he had was the hunt in Townsend, Tennessee. Sam was hurt and Dean was missing. The potential lead for the demon was more complicated than originally planned and quickly went downhill. Multiple sightings of a man, his face and body badly burned, eyes starring and vacant, and multiple families burning alive in their homes brought the Winchesters to the Appalachian Mountains.

No cattle deaths, electrical storms, or any of the standard signs of demonic activity was present, but the similarities couldn't be ignored. After days of research and multiple interviews with the witnesses, it was obvious that this wasn't the demon that killed his Mary. The Winchesters quickly narrowed down the creature to the ghost of one of the burn victims. But it wasn't the ghost that hurt his family, it was a good ole Tennessean snow storm. It came hard, fast, and unexpected. The weather station they watched before heading out never once mentioned the possibility of inclement weather.

The night began as any other hunt. Sam was doing last minute research, making sure all their I's were dotted and t's were crossed. Dean checked his gun for the third time and double checked his and Sammy's bags. He would sporadically throw an affectionate insult at his younger brother and get the "bitch face" in return. Dean's eyes would crinkle and shine with amusement at his little brother's expense.

"Come on Sammy, that joke never gets old," Dean paused. "But your haircut does. 'Bout time for your annual trip to the salon." His laughter was cut off by John's gruff reprimand, "Boys, get focused on the hunt or you'll have more than a pissed off ghost to deal with." Sam and Dean's faces immediately took on solemn and serious expressions, but John still didn't miss the quick look Sam threw at his older brother's back. If looks could kill… Sam quickly went back to his book on Appalachian lore.

John's attention strayed to his youngest. Lately, Sammy was questioning more and listening less. Demanding to know why they couldn't live normal lives and be like all the other kids. He just didn't understand. How could he? He never knew his mother; he was only six months old when she died. Violently ripped away from a happy life filled with love and laughter. But it was different for him and Dean. They had memories, real memories that even fire couldn't burn away and destroy. Sam's memory of his mother was nonexistent and based off stories and pictures. He just couldn't understand how the kid worked, he was a lot like Mary that way; head strong and independent. His thoughts drifted away from his son and dead wife and focused on the hunt.

Moments later they all piled into the Impala and headed for to the last reported sighting of the "Burning Man". They parked and slowly exited the car, the temperature had obviously dropped since leaving the motel. Three miles into their five-mile hike Sam finally spoke, "Dad, did the weather channel mention anything about snow? I thought I spotted some stratus clouds through the trees."

Dean snickered, "Stratus clouds? Nice, did you learn that in science class geek boy?" Dean ruffled Sam hair as he walked passed his glaring brother. "No Dean, it's actually common knowledge if you actually read a book every now and then. And no, Busty Asian Beauties don't count." Sam smirked when Dean rolled his eyes.

"Cut it out boys, and no, the weather channel didn't say a damned thing. Not a damned thing", his last muttered reply was lost on deaf ear when Sam suddenly screamed for his brother.

"Dean! Dad, where did he go?! He was just here." Sam frantically searched through the trees but his efforts were for naught when a steady amount of snowfall obscured his field of vision. Sam yelled out in pain when his frantic search for his brother caused him to trip over a root.

"Sammy! You okay, son?" his heart wrenched at the thought of a lost son and one that was injured. "Shit, shit, shit! Dad, I think I broke my wrist." Sam's pained expression and wavering voice made the injury obvious. "Dean's gone! We have to find him. Anything could've happened to him."

"Sam, calm down. We'll find your brother. That's a promise I'll always keep." Sam's forehead was pinched with worry. A constant reminder of the dangerous life these three led. It would all be worth it when the demon that killed his wife was dead. The demon that destroyed his little slice of heaven; his home.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scream. He looked around, instantly on guard and ready for whatever came at him and his injured Sammy. Suddenly a white hot pained shot through his head, bringing him to his knees. He looked around for his youngest, but he was gone. Disappearing just like his brother; gone without a trace. His last coherent thought was that they never should've taken this hunt.

-SPN-

He slowly got to his knees and looked around. He wasn't in Townsend and these definitely weren't his stiff and frozen clothes from the hunt. He recognized this place. He didn't know how, but he did. It suddenly occurred to him that this was home. The onslaught of memories caused a deep ache to resonate through his whole body. This used to be his home, but not anymore. His home was his boys. Two boys that were currently missing and possibly seriously injured. He wasn't in Townsend anymore, but he was definitely in Kansas. Lawrence, Kansas. Where it all started and ended.

TBC


	2. Vividi Memoriam

Chapter 2

Title: Lost in Translation

Summary: What's dead should stay dead… but what if you're a Winchester? Set in Season 12.

Disclaimer: I forgot to put this in the first chapter. I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.

Rated: T for Violence, injuries, and adult language.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed. It means a lot to this first time fanfiction author. Here's the second chapter. I worked really hard to get this out fast. This doesn't have a beta so any mistakes are definitely mine. Please continue to review. Thank you!

-SPN-

 _He ran._

 _He ran so fast his surroundings were blurred images of brown and white. His whole body ached, but he ran. He had no recollection of how he got here or where "here" was. But still, he ran. He had to find his brother. He couldn't remember the last thing he said to him. He couldn't even remember how they got separated. Pain was his last coherent memory._

 _He woke up in a ravine, covered in a thick layer of snow, mud, and confusion; he was motionless. The snow covered everything, giving off a false sense of security. An eerie blanket like numbness cocooned him from reality. The reality that he was alone. The blurred edges of his vision cleared and the blanket of snow that shielded him from the truth was torn away. He couldn't breathe or move, but he had to get up. His head ached but the urgency of the situation called for willpower. He was a Winchester and they didn't let little things like possible head injuries take them out. Aside from the possible concussion, he was pretty sure he had a few busted ribs too. The icing on the freaking cake._

 _With a hammering heart, he wrenched himself to his feet and swayed. He caught himself on a nearby tree and clenched his fists in sudden frustration. Pure anguish coursed through him as he decided his next course of action. He had to move. He had to find his way back to his family and keep them safe. They were all he had left and he refused to let anything take them away. Injuries forgotten, he ran._

 _The twigs and fallen leaves that managed to escaped the snow's cold embrace crunched under his booted feet. Sweat, despite the cold weather, ran down his face and into his eyes. Frantically searching for long brown hair, he angrily wiped at his face, wincing when his hand found the source for his aching head. His whole body was exhausted. Begging to be able to rest, but he couldn't stop. Not until he found out his little brother safe and sound. He felt like he'd been running forever when he finally heard it; his name. An echo of familiarity, kinship, and brotherhood._

" _Dean! Wake up, Dean." He didn't understand. The voice was distant and low, like the voice was under water. He knew he should recognize it. The voice was the same, but somehow so different. He whipped his head around and skidded to a halt. "SAMMY!" he screamed his little brother's name. Desperate now, he searched through the dense trees, but found nothing. "Sam! Answer me, dammit!"_

" _Dean, it's just a dream. You need to wake up!" He definitely recognized the voice now. There was no mistaking the worried voice for his brother. The trees blurred and shifted. His vision cut in and out, like a television antenna had a bad signal. His whole body felt wrong; weightless._

 _He had to find him, protect him..._

 _Look after his pain in the ass little brother…_

 _I need him, he needs me…_

He jerked awake, the remnants of the horrible dream still fogged his mind. He blindly threw his hands and his fist connected with something soft, but firm. "Shit!" The panic over his missing brother still desperately clawed at his chest. He _couldn't_ breathe. Panic had his throat in its strong, unclenching grasp.

"Dean! It was just a dream. It's ok." Sam's worried face filled his vision. Sam was alive and ok. His life wasn't in any danger, at least at the moment. His body relaxed and he could finally _breathe_. His greedily sucked oxygen into his deprived lungs and sat back. He wasn't in Tennessee. The dream was just a memory. A long forgotten, dark memory. One that Sam and Dean never talked about. He took a deep breath and finally got a good look at his brother.

"What happened to your face?" he gasped out, his lungs still working overtime. Sam slowly exhaled and ran his fingers anxiously through his hair. "It's nothing, and I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about. You scared the shit out of me." Sam's whole body looked drained and weary. The combination made him look older than his 34 years.

"Yeah, well, it was just a dream. Nothing to worry about Samuel." he gave his best efforts for a smile, refusing to make eye contact. Sam knew it was fake, but didn't push for an explanation. He knew his brother better than anyone and understood his reasons for privacy completely. Denial and refusal to acknowledge one's vulnerability was Winchester 101. He rose wearily and grasped his brother's shoulder. He looked down and gave his brother a look that said what words couldn't.

"Oh, and it's Sam."

-SPN-

Dean couldn't get the dream out of his head. Out of nowhere, the blind panic would suddenly grip him and he'd get an unexpected glimpse of the past. The desperate need to know where Sam was couldn't be ignored. The need to know that he was ok was always there in the back of his mind. The stress over the past couple months was finally catching up with him. The events of Sam's torture, Mary's return, and her ultimate decision to have time apart affected every aspect of his life. Her ultimate decision to leave and find her way in this unfamiliar and new world was daunting. He understood, but it was still rough. Losing a parent twice, even temporarily, caused his abandonment issues to rear their ugly had. He would sometimes find himself sporadically checking his phone for missed calls or random messages. A damned teenager, that's what he was. He rolled his eyes and went back to surfing the web for a case.

After finding nothing but the average missing persons' case, his eyes finally strayed to an article from Townsend, Tn. _BURNING MAN RETURNS: FAMILY OF FOUR BURNS ALIVE._ Fear instantly coils in his gut, making it hard to swallow. "What the hell," he chokes out. "That's not possible." He needed to talk to Sam. Now.

-SPN-

It didn't take long to find him. He was in the library, like always, doing research. This time though, something was different.

"What the actually hell are you listening to?" The panic was instantly forgotten. Startled, Sam whips around and his eyes widen. He quickly stutters out, "Nothing Dean, it's just some random song." If Dean wasn't so disgusted, he would actually laugh. Sam's face is the epitome of embarrassment. "Were you just listening to Vince Vincente? The douche bag? The same Vince Vincente that's currently Lucifer's meat suit? Have I taught you nothing?"

"Dean, the song isn't even that bad. It's a prime example of the 80's culture. And anyways, I was doing research." Dean shakes his head, speechless. "We'll finish this discussion later. There was actually something I needed to talk to you about." Dean hesitates, not completely sure how to bring this up. "Do you remember the hunt in Townsend?" Sam pauses and slowly asks, "Tennessee?" Dean nods his head, the panic threatening to break his stoic expression.

"Yeah, how could I forget?"

"Well, here's the thing. We need to go back…"

-SPN-

TBC


	3. Oblitus Memoriae

Chapter 3

Title: Lost in Translation

Summary: What's dead should stay dead… but what if you're a Winchester? Set in Season 12.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.

Rated: T for Violence, injuries, and adult language.

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long to get out. The holidays got really hectic and I had so many finals. Plus, I had a bad case of writer's block. I'm sure this has a lot of mistakes, so I'm apologizing in advance. Anyways, I hope everyone enjoys!

-SPN-

"Go back?" Sam didn't know how to respond. "What are you talking about, Dean?" Sam and Dean never talked about that specific case in Tennessee. It brought on an onslaught of bad memories that both brothers would rather not dredge up. Sam couldn't remember every detail from that case, but he remembered enough. It was a smudged and grotesque memory that forever stained their childhood.

"Yes, Sam. We need to go back." Dean grabbed his laptop and roughly shoved it into Sam's line of vision. Sam quickly read through the article, surprise written all over his face. "Burning Man returns… family of four burns alive…" Sam slowly looked at his brother. "How? You and Dad took care of this." Sam paused and gave his brother a suspicious look. "That's what you told me at least."

"We did take care of it, or we thought we did." Dean finally looks at his brother, dreading what was coming next. "Something happened that night Sam- something horrible."

"I know Dean, we almost lost you, but-" he stopped himself short. Dean was slowly shaking his head, eyes downcast. "What Dean? What else happened?" Sam waited for a response and sighed when none came.

Sam wasn't really surprised, but hell, getting Dean Winchester to share a bad memory or any type of emotional trauma was like pulling teeth- painful and not fun for anyone. But if he was being truthful, it ran in the family.

Dean took a deep breath and looked at his brother. The grown man that sat before him was strong and brave. Twice the man that he was. He could handle the truth, but that wasn't the issue. Dean wasn't sure his brother would understand, and if he did, Dean wasn't sure his brother would forgive him. This level of betrayal was worse than the Ruby, Gadreel, and all the other pointless shit combined.

Forgiveness was a word that both brothers were familiar with, but this was different. There was a reason Sam repressed some of his time in Tennessee. The memory was too painful to bare. The memories that suddenly accosted him were brutal and ruthless. Thirty some odd years of good memories was almost enough to erase all the bad, but that specific night stained his subconscious. Worse than his time in Hell and definitely worse than that fateful night at Cold Oak. His hands trembled as he slowly lifted his beer and took a long drag, letting the lukewarm liquid travel down his throat.

Almost against his will, Dean was suddenly propelled through time, memories hammering into him like bullets tearing through his flesh…

-SPN-

 _Blood was everywhere. On his hands, slowly dripping onto the ground. He didn't know where it came from or where he was. The last thing he remembered was running desperately through the forest, searching for something. He couldn't remember what it was, but it was important. He had definitely lost some time, but how much was still to be determined._

 _He was too disoriented to stand up, so he carefully looked around, trying to decipher his location. His blurred vision suddenly sharpened, and he was bombarded with a ray of sunlight that filtered through the branches of trees. The sun reflected off numerous ice crystals, causing an abundance of "sparkles" to dance across the clearing._

 _The snow that came so hard and fast was slowly melting in the areas where the sun broke through the canopy of trees. It was beautiful. This type of beauty shouldn't be tarnished by the grotesqueness of his bloodied hands, but he was peaceful. The desperate, soul crushing fear he felt while disoriented drifted away. Why was he worried? He was surrounded by the most beautiful sight he's ever seen…_

 _Tiny beads of moisture dripped from a nearby tree, falling onto his face and bringing him back to the present. The peacefulness that encompassed his whole being mere seconds before was savagely ripped away, leaving him breathless. Sam, he remembered now._

 _He abruptly lurched to his feet, desperate, but found his path blocked by a prone figure. He tripped and landed hard, jarring his many injuries. He groaned and rolled over, rubbing his concussed head. He didn't have time for this. His little brother needed him._

 _His vision slowly cleared and he finally got a good look at what caused him to lose his footing. It was a body, concealed under a fine sheet of snow, leaves, and… blood? He didn't understand. His jumbled mind couldn't connect what he was seeing with reality. He didn't want to move, he was terrified, but he had to know. He painfully made his way to the body, and what he saw ripped his heart to shreds._

 _The face was peaceful, almost like the he was asleep. Almost, as if, the young life wasn't torn away with callus brutality. The young boy's brown hair was matted with blood and chunks of mud and trigs. His hands trembled with the force of his distress as he gently placed them on the boy's face. His bloodied hand travelled down the young face, leaving a small trail of red behind, and finally coming to rest on the delicate neck. Desperate now, he felt for a pulse, already knowing he wouldn't find one. With a gut wrenching sob, he grabbed his brother's body and shook him with a great deal of force._

" _Wake up! Sammy! No...!" The voice sounded foreign and unfamiliar. The grief stricken words left a bad taste in his mouth and he gagged. Still gripping his brother tight to his chest, he dry heaved, but nothing came up. He couldn't remember the last time he had something to eat. He couldn't even remember how much time had passed since they all got separated from each other._

 _This couldn't be happening; it just wasn't possible. The force of his sobs caused his concussed head to throb in time with his erratic heartbeat. His little brother- his responsibility, lay still and unmoving in his arms, stiff with either the unyielding cold or death. His breath hitched and he sank down to the ground with his brother, trying his best to transfer his warmth unto the lifeless body._

" _Sammy, don't leave me…" he whispered, long passed coherency. His whole world and purpose in life, lay dead in his arms. It was his fault. He couldn't protect him. He wasn't good enough. His little brother died alone and he didn't even get to say goodbye. Sammy was pure light and happiness. He didn't deserve this kind of death._

 _His eyes slowly traveled down his brother, memorizing every inch until his gaze finally landed on the source of all the blood. A knife wound. This wasn't the work of a ghost or monster. Someone stabbed his little brother- a person. Red hot anger coursed through his veins, making him tremble with fury and renewed grief. When he found the person who did this, he'd kill them._

 _He needed to get up and find his dad, but he didn't dare move. He didn't want to disrupt his false sense of security. With his brother laying in his arms, it was easy to pretend he was still with sleep and not death. So he didn't move, he stayed where he was, slowly rocking his brother in his arms. Hot tears of anguish rolled down his face as he ran his dried blood encrusted fingers through his little brother's hair._

 _Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sun reflect off a small, shiny object. It lay not five feet away, halfway embedded in the snow. Recognition pierced through his grief, leaving him breathless. He recognized that object because it belonged to him. It was his favorite knife- his dad had given it to him on his eighteenth birthday._

 _With his brother still clutched in his arms, he dragged them over to the offending object. He was slowly reaching out to grab it when ice filled is veins. His knife was covered in blood. He didn't understand. Did he try and fight off the man who killed his brother? His grief burdened mind couldn't sort through the information until a brief memory flashed through his mind._

" _ **Dean?! I've been looking everywhere!"**_

" _ **Last thing I remember is you disappearing."**_

" _ **Dean? What are you doing?"**_

" _ **This isn't you!"**_

" _ **Fight it, Dean!"**_

 _When he finally picked up the knife, he was flooded with horrific memories. He remembered the disturbing feeling of not being able to control himself. He tried, but it was impossible. He remembered terrified hazel eyes, pleaded with him- begging him to fight it._

" _ **It's ok, Dean."**_

" _ **I was so lucky to have a brother like you."**_

" _ **I forgive you…"**_

 _There was no denying it, he remembered it all. The blood slowly running down the blade onto his hands. The light slowly dying out of bright hazel eyes, dulling them with death. He killed his little brother… He_ _ **murdered**_ _his little brother…_

-SPN-

"Dean? Where did you go?" Dean dragged himself from the dark memories of the past and looked at his very much alive brother.

"Somewhere I never want to go again little brother…" Sam frowned, still not sure what to make of this whole Townsend case thing. He hadn't seen his brother like this in a long time.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or not? Because if we have some unfinished business with a case I need to know what we're dealing with. Dean, we're a team. I can handle it."

"I know you can handle it Sammy, but it's not really a fantastic memory. It's not really something I like to bring up." Dean sighed and glanced around the bunker, steeling himself for what he knew he had to do.

"We all have things we don't like to bring up Dean, but this is important. You need to tell me what happened so I can be prepared for the hunt."

"You wanna know that bad? Fine." Dean stood up and abruptly faced his brother, his face determined. "That night, all those years ago I found you, covered in blood. Dead. You died that night Sam- you _died._ Are you happy now!" Sam's face blanched with shock. Out of all the things he expected to come out of his brother's mouth, that was not it.  
"I died?" Sam asked slowly, staring at his brother's outraged face. Dean nodded unsteadily and looked away, not sure what else to say.

"I'm just a little confused. If I died when I was fourteen years old, how am I alive now?" Dean looked at him like he had two heads. "Dude, how many times have you died?" Sam scoffed, "You should talk, you've died more than me."

Dean paused, as if he was contemplating his answer. He finally sighed and huffed out a dry laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Dean, as much as I love comparing our many deaths, you still haven't answered my questions. How did I die and how am I alive now?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but before he could they both heard a ringing coming from Dean's room. They both looked at each other, sharing apprehensive looks. Dean got up and briskly went to his room, Sam right on his heels.

"That's not your cell phone." Sam said.

"No, it isn't. But I think I know whose it is."

Dean rummaged through the desk drawer that contained all his old phones and finally found the right one. He flipped open the phone and put it on speaker so Sam could hear too.

"Hello," he answered not sure what to expect.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, but before Sam or Dean could say anything, a gruff and distinctly familiar voice answered. "Who's this and why do you have my phone?"

-SPN-

TBC

A/N: I'm pretty sure John's phone wouldn't be working anymore, but this storyline helped to move my story along. Hope everyone liked it. Please continue to review. Let me know how I'm doing and if you're still interesting.


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